Exodus
by Shipperwolf
Summary: Rewrite of Art of Revenge. Kellerman loses his patience with Sara during his interrogation Michael determines to find her before its too late.
1. Chapter 1

Hey ppls! Another "Michael finds Kellerman torturing Sara" fic. Didn't like the last one I wrote so I tried again. Hope thisun will flow a bit better! I own zip. Much love, huggles to all who read this! And even those who don't. ;)

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"…. if there is serious injury, you are to take life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise." -Exodus 21:23-25

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"This is a fully automatic pistol, Michael. Military issue. It's pretty much illegal to carry."

"If she's hurt, carrying it will be nothing compared to the crime I'll commit…"

The weapon in question was tucked away in Michael's jeans as he drove swiftly towards the hotel.

His father's stare haunted him.

He'd willingly given him the gun, knowing what he was going to use it for.

He recalled the conversation with Lincoln moments later, as his reunited family stood together in Aldo's hideout.

'Dad has evidence that could help us. We may not need to leave the country at all, Michael. He says we're close to the truth. You really want to take this risk? You did say she left on her own…'

'Just the same, I have to find her. She's not safe alone. I need to get to her before someone else does.'

Michael shook the memory away as the town of Gila came into view.

He would start there, and work his way around each nearby city until he found her.

If she was still in New Mexico, he would find her.

A sick feeling formed in his stomach as he thought of what could happen to her…what could have already happened.

He hoped he was just being paranoid.

He prayed for it.

The blurred image of "Lance" came into view as Sara opened her eyes.

He was giving her a break, giving her time to consider her options before he continued his interrogation.

A pained moan escaped her lips. She was exhausted.

Her skin tingled with cold, her hair dripped wet from her head being repeatedly shoved into the bathtub .

Her face stung with the slap he'd given her when she'd cursed him.

And her thigh…it burned.

The memory of the hot iron hit her with terror.

She was so tired. Too tired to cry out against the gag in her mouth, or struggle in the chair she was tied in.

Lance bent down before her, his eyes dull with no remorse evident within them. Through her obscured eyesight she could make out his hand coming toward her.

His fingers pulled down the cloth in her mouth.

"I'll tell you what. I'll trade facts with you. And as a show of kindness, I'll go first. I'm Paul. Lance was just one of the many names I've gone by. Now…your turn. Where was Michael going to meet his brother?"

Gritting her teeth and focusing to clear her vision, Sara glared at the man that was now pressing the barrel of a pistol to her temple.

Her voice was strained, scratchy, and quiet.

"I don't know. And if I did…I wouldn't tell you. So you're just wasting your precious time, aren't you?"

From the frustrated manner in which his brow furrowed, she should have been concerned for her life.

But at this point, after everything she'd been through….she really didn't care anymore.

Her father was dead, her career non-existent, her life a target for others to destroy.

And Michael…he probably assumed she was gone. He was more then likely fed up with chasing her, or had taken the hint that she no longer wanted to chase after him.

But the fact was, she had been planning on going to go back to that hotel room. She wasn't going to leave him.

And this "Paul" just had to be there, just at that moment, to bind and blindfold her, throw her in a car, and drive away.

She had no idea where she was. But from the time they left to the time they stopped, she guessed it couldn't have been more than fifty miles from Gila.

Sara bit her lip when he bent in close to her ear.

Warmth tickled the lobe as his breath hit.

"There's no point in protecting them. Scofield doesn't care about you. If you told me where he was going, not only would he get what was coming to him for using you, but I may consider letting you live."

Sara scoffed inwardly and pulled her head away from the damp air of his breath.

"You really think I believe that? Whether or not I tell you anything, I'm dead either way. You can't afford to let me live. So stop placating me, it isn't going to help you any more than tormenting me."

A shiver of panic ran through her spine when he grinned at her defiance.

She felt her eyes burn with tears when a knife replaced the gun in his hand.

"I don't think you understand just how far I'm willing to go, Sara. The "torment" I've put you through so far was just a warm up. You WILL tell me where they're going, or you'll die wishing you had."


	2. Chapter 2

Whew! wow itz taken me forever to get another chap up on thisun. but im gonna try and finish it very soon. hope u enjoy it, sry its so short! love-nik

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Gila welcomed Michael Scofield with different circumstances than he had met with on his last visit. Driving carefully past the Sundown Hotel, he turned his head away upon seeing the cop cars that populated the parking lot.

He guessed the obvious: Sara would not risk staying a day longer in this place. So, he opted to continue down the road, getting out of Gila immediately. He would check any motels in Cliff, a town not five miles away, and then head northwest.

Worry filled his thoughts, taking his focus off the road.

Sara had become a major priority over his "grand plan".

He was certain the delay was frustrating to everyone, but he knew his brother understood. He knew that if he'd had the chance, Lincoln would have saved Veronica. He had mourned the loss of their friend. Vee had been a part of their lives for longer than he could remember.

And Linc had loved her just as long.

He'd never forgive himself if Sara met the same fate…

Shaking fingers brushed the cold metal of the gun at his side. When the car began to jerk, Michael realized the tires scraping ever-so-slightly off the pavement, and he regained control before hitting a ditch.

Placing both hands firmly on the wheel, he shook his head of cobwebs and drove into the town of Cliff.

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Sara's flesh stung at the entrance of the knife's point into her cheek. Paul, as he called himself, was taking extra care not to penetrate the skin deeply, but enough to make it hurt like hell.

His eyes were now very different from those of "Lance the addict".

They were ablaze with frustration and anger, and his voice was soaked with impatience when he spoke.

"Sara, I will not ask you again, TELL ME where they are. If I screw up again, it's all over for me. And I'm sorry, but MY life is more important to me than yours, or Michael's, or Lincoln's. And since your life is such, I will have no problem dispatching you if I have to."

The words seeped from his lips with desperation and malice.

And all Sara could do was smirk at him.

"You're one hell of a liar, you know that? I won't tell you anything, because, for the LAST TIME, I don't know. And don't give me that crap about killing me. I'm no good to you dead." she regretted the words the moment they flew out.

In a blur the knife scraped across the burn on her thigh, slicing into it and furthering the intense agony that her left leg was already in.

His free hand wrapped itself around her throat, and Sara knew she had sealed her fate.

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A sign reading "Welcome to Buckhorn" met Michael's view after an unsuccessful search through the nothingness of Cliff.

Two lone motels stood across from each other.

And there, in the parking lot of the one to his right, sat Sara's rental car. Donning a cap and his horrid grandpa-sunglasses, Michael parked the car, opened the door, and walked with a predatory determination up to the desk.

The little old man that sat behind the counter squinted up at him.

"What can I do for you?"

Michael thanked God that the man seemed half-blind. Because there, on the small television behind the man's chair, was his mugshot.

He wasted no time in getting to the point.

"Yes sir, I 'm looking for someone. A woman, about ye high, dark red hair?"

A wrinkled hand raised to point to the stairwell.

"A woman like that came in last night, a young man too, looked around your age, all suited up like some lawyer or high-class fella."

Panic struck Michael's stomach at the elder's words.

"What room?"


	3. Chapter 3

whoo, wow, sorry it took so long to update this! i've been really busy and slightly mindblank o.0

but hopefully this fic will be finito soon! plz R&R!

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"You never know what you have until it's lost."

How many times had Sara heard that stupid phrase throughout her life?

She had never once given thought to it, until this day, when something very important was taken from her.

The ability to breathe.

Suddenly something as simple and insignificant as taking in air became the greatest priority in her mind, as the hand that gripped her throat threatened to squeeze the life out of her. The knife that occupied Paul's left hand glinted menacingly in the light that streamed in from the windows, and Sara found herself wishing he would use it and end the slow panic that was forming in her chest.

"I'm sorry you had to bring me to this."

He spoke between gritted teeth, and if she had been able to scoff again she would have.

She knew he would eventually strangle her to death, and unfortunately for her, it was a death she feared to the point of tears. She feared it because it was slow, like drowning, which happened to be right up there on her list of "worst ways to die".

As her air supply grew low, and the panic of the moment set in, Sara knew she had to be hallucinating when a loud crack sounded from the door, and she realized it had been kicked in.

* * *

His heart seemed to be beating directly into his ears as he ran, glancing for mere milliseconds at the room numbers as he passed them by.

Room 204 was his destination, the room that Sara and an unknown stranger were occupying.

He only prayed he would find her alive…

The numbers "203" caught his eye as he ran, and without even thinking, his foot met the wood of the next door he saw.

With a loud smack and a dull pain that ran through his leg, he kicked the door with everything he had, and found his very worst nightmare within.

Sara. Tied to a chair. With a man's hand wrapped tightly around her neck.

If Michael had strange eyesight before, what was happening to him now would be considered a breakthrough in science and medicine.

Because now, Michael was seeing red.

With a rush of hot air that exhaled through his throat he ran, the pistol in his hand pointed directly at the head of the man who was about to take Sara away from him.

Even as the man that gripped her let go to reach for the metal at his side, Michael fired without a second thought. His eyesight, blurred in rage and tinted in colors he couldn't describe, caused his aim to falter as he shot, and the bullet that came flying from the silencer made its way into the man's thigh.

He could hear the gasps for breath coming in heaves from the woman next to him, coupled with a yelp of pain from the man who was now on the floor.

Sara was alive.

But if he had been just a few seconds too late, she wouldn't be.

And that thought alone caused him to break.

Kicking the gun and knife simultaneously away from the man's reach, Michael aimed once again, and the laser sight gleamed on the very hand that had tried to take Sara's life.

Another silent shot. Another scream. Another strange feeling of satisfaction pooling into Michael's being. Even in his anger he knew he couldn't finish the job. Murder was a line he desperately feared crossing.

But, perhaps just one more shot to call it even…

"Michael."

The soft call behind him brought his world crashing inwards, and suddenly everything became sharp and alert. His vision, his mind, and most importantly, his common sense.

He had done enough, and they both knew it.

What was most important now was getting Sara out of that place.

Taking in what felt like was the deepest breath ever inhaled, Michael lowered the gun and turned away from his target to face Sara.

He did so just in time to realize the extreme amount of blood seeping from her leg, and just in time to watch her eyes roll back in her head as she lost consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

wootz! this is the last chap, ppl, and i hope its to your liking . thanks for reading, plz review!

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The old man had never seen the worry-stricken fugitive that raced down the stairs of the nearly abandoned motel.

Shifting Sara's weight in his arms, Michael glanced at the sleeping elder, his face turned to the side, cheek pressed into the wood of the front desk, blissfully unaware that a Secret Service agent was lying bleeding in a room above him.

Getting the unconscious Sara in the car was easy. Paying attention to the road while looking over at her wounded leg every two seconds was not.

He could see her eyelids flutter every so often, her mind trying to re-awaken from its state of dormancy. She was losing blood, he knew, and he knew that not only could he not take her to a hospital, but even if he could, one could not be found for nearly a hundred miles in either direction.

They were in the middle of nowhere.

Pulling over onto the side of a dirt road that looked like something out of a 1930s western, Michael bent over and checked Sara's pulse.

The beat met his fingers steadily, but her breathing grew shallow, and her eyebrows were bent down in a look of pain.

He knew that in order to examine the injury further he would need better access. He needed her to wake up.

Leaning down, close to her face, his hand moved to wipe the sweat-dampened hair from her face.

His voice came out low, filled with shame and concern.

"Sara. Sara, wake up."

A few light pats on her cheek and her eyes cracked open slightly.

"What?…..Micha…"

Sara's whisper faded away under a small whimper, and his heart clenched to the point of holding back a falling tear.

He had done this, more or less.

If only he hadn't…

Michael shook his head.

Feeling sorry for himself would not help her.

He pat her face a few more times, getting one fully open eye as a response.

"I need you to wake up, listen. Your….your pants. I need to get them off."

At this both eyes opened and stared at him with a hint of anger and confusion.

He wanted to slap himself for not considering a different approach to that line.

"No, listen, your leg, it's bleeding pretty badly. I can't get a good look at it like this. I need you to help me maneuver so I can get your jeans off."

A small moan emitted from her throat at the memory of what had happened.

The knife cutting into a burn, an unbearable pain that returned more with every thought of it.

She nodded and grasped the door handle for leverage.

As she used her one good leg to push her hips upward, Michael undid the button and pulled her jeans down, biting his lip at the sight of her crimson panties.

The crimson that dripped down her leg, however, was a darker shade. And he couldn't tell if the blood was still flowing.

Mind fuzzy with fear, screaming at him to think, Michael breathed deep and backed away to assess the situation. He looked around in the car, checked the glove box for anything useful, and felt around in the backseat.

An unopened bottle of drinking water and some napkins were his only tools.

But he knew if he could stop the bleeding, her chances would be heightened.

Pouring the water over the gash in her thigh he heard her hiss, the cold liquid rinsing away the drying blood and making it more visible to Michael's intense eyes.

He dabbed the stains away gently, and looked closer at the swollen slash.

No major veins could have been cut, he determined.

The injury was in the front of her thigh, in a muscle. A few inches to the right, however, and the knife would have hit a source of blood flow in the pelvic region.

Gritting his teeth, Michael bit back a curse at the man who had come so close to taking her life.

Sara's tired and dark eyes were on him, and in them he saw oncoming exhaustion, and another possible blackout.

"Okay, I don't think this is bad enough to merit a total panic, but I do need to tie something around it stop the blood from continuing to flow. It's going to hurt like hell for a minute, but try to bear with me."

Sara picked up on the small use of cursing he had used and attempted a grin.

She nodded, and leaned her head back, shutting her eyes tight.

Michael looked down at his clothing.

His jacket had long since been forgotten, lost in a run from Mahone.

His shirt was all he had left.

He removed it quickly, before Sara's eyes opened again, and wrapped it around her leg.

"Alright, I'm gonna have to pull this tight, ready?"

This time her voice, small and broken, filled his ears.

"Yes."

And he yanked, applying the needed pressure to stop the blood, and eliciting a sharp yelp from the agonized woman who writhed in the seat.

As her quickened breathing slowed, and the initial pain died, Sara looked at him sleepily and forced another smile.

"You did good. Maybe you could have been a doctor."

After all of the anger he had been feeling since he found her in the motel room, Michael allowed his sense of humor to show for just a moment, and laughed lightly at her statement.

"I think you're delirious. In few hours we'll head out to go meet up with Linc, so you should get some rest. I'll stay awake…and watch over you."

Half-lidded eyes landed on his bare chest, and his skin twitched as her cool fingers ran over his heart.

She said nothing.

She removed her hand and closed her eyes.

Michael pulled the gun out of his jeans and looked at it, fingering the barrel.

His eyes burned with red for just a moment before he set it in the glove-compartment.

Shifting over to one side, facing the sleeping Sara, he reached over and laid a hand on her wrist.

He remained so for the next three hours, watching her, listening to her steady breaths, feeling the strengthening beat of her pulse beneath his fingertips.

If given a choice, Michael picked life over death any day.


End file.
